a small black coffee to go

the barista

tells me that i look tired.

she's observant.

you look

tired, she says, as she stands behind

the whirring

machine

making

lattes and cappuccinos,

whipping up

frothy drinks

of all colors and ingredients.

milkshakes and juices.

i squint up at the board

and order what

i usually do.

a small black coffee, hot,

to go.

i am tired, i tell her, as she

slides the drink

towards me,

and i drop change into 

the tip jar.